


some things you just can't refuse

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: sunflower [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Almost sexual content, Bed-sharing, Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Mild Angst, Open ended, Original Character - Freeform, Post The Heist, mild infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 05:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17677100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Felicia comes back, and everything starts to change.





	some things you just can't refuse

**Author's Note:**

> my muse decided there's more to this peter/felicia story it wants to tell, so here we go! part two of what is now called the sunflower series. i'm in the process of writing part 3, hopefully i can get that done this week! stay tuned! 
> 
> thanks to everyone who read _crash at my place_!! and thanks to hannah for beta'ing!
> 
> enjoy!

It’s the soft _clink_ that wakes him. Then it’s the chill of metal around his wrists. He jerks instinctively but whatever the cuffs are made of is stronger than he is; he only manages to bend part of his metal headboard. He relaxes immediately and tilts his head back to stare at his wrists and the chain looped through the headboard.

Peter blinks as his eyes adjust and the haze of sleep subsides. His gaze drifts, following the lines of shadows on the wall, until he lands on the figure standing beside his bed. He gives another instinctive startle, but Felicia’s soft shushing has him freezing in place. It helps that she also clambers onto the bed with him, slowly, bracketing his hips with her thighs.

“Long time no see,” she murmurs. Her silver hair is in tight curls and as long as ever, falling in ringlets around her face. If she bends any closer, the tips of silver will brush over Peter’s bare chest.

“Not that long.” His retort comes out strangled but it’s no less true. Her supposed death was less than six months ago, and along with it her visit to Peter’s apartment. “Where’s—?”

“With my mom for the weekend. He’s growing so fast.”

Peter knows she doesn’t say it _just_ to hurt him, but it cuts deep nonetheless. “What’re you doing here?”

Felicia lays a hand on the center of his chest and taps her fingertips against his sternum. “In town for a few days. Thought I’d say hi.”

“What if MJ had been here?”

Felicia looks especially catlike as she smirks. With the hand not pressed to Peter’s chest, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I read the news. Saw your precious little redhead is away for the weekend. She’s hitting the big time, huh?”

Peter nods. “Uh.” Slowly, as he wakes more and more by the second, he’s also more and more aware of Felicia’s weight on him. She’s sitting a little high on his stomach, not quite on his groin, but… “Yeah. She’s been doing really well.”

“I bet she has you to thank for that, huh?” Felicia walks her fingers across his pectorals, over the right then the left, then up to his chin. She taps twice, and her fingertip skirts his bottom lip. “Spider-Man giving her all the big scoops and intel, right?”

“It’s mutually beneficial.”

Felicia laughs and draws her hands back, leaving Peter cold. “I’m sure that’s not the only thing.” She sits back and sighs.

“What’s with the handcuffs?” Peter asks after a heavy moment of silence, of Felicia just staring at him.

“Can’t risk you throwing me out, Spidey.”

“Felicia—?”

“Besides, isn’t this more fun?” She leans over him again and plucks at the chain. “Like the old days.”

Peter is painfully aware of his cheeks burning, and how his blush bleeds down to his chest. “Felicia,” he starts again.

Felicia smiles softly. “Just wanted to see you before we skip town again. We’re heading south for the winter, I think.”

“It’s February.”

“We’re doing winter a little late,” she says with a shrug. She reaches behind her and pulls out a key. “If you promise to behave, I’ll unlock you.”

Peter swallows. He’s half-hard in his boxers and knows that Felicia is almost certainly aware of it. “I’ll behave,” he says as cheekily as he can manage. He holds back a sharp inhale as Felicia leans over him and undoes the cuffs. The metal chimes quietly and she tosses them aside. “Where did you get those, anyway?” Peter asks as he sits up, rubbing his wrists.

“That’s my secret.” Felicia winks at him, then clambers off his lap. “Do you actually have food in here, this time?” She wanders over to his fridge. Peter takes the time while her back is turned to grab some sweatpants and a tee.

“I could cook something.”

Felicia smiles at him again. “That’d be nice.”

 

They eat by the open window. Felicia hums as she eats, sometimes a song or sometimes just appreciative of his dish, and Peter watches her like it’s the last time he’ll see her. For all he knows, it could be. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d see her after the last time she skipped town.

“How’s Walter doing?” Peter asks as he gathers their plates.

“Wally’s good.”

Peter snorts. “You really call him that?” He senses her only moments before her arms curl around his stomach, her chin hooked over his shoulder. Her hair tickles his neck as he rinses their plates clean.

“It suits him,” she whispers in his ear. Her lips graze his lobe ever so slightly, almost subtle enough to be an accident. “His hair is so brown.”

Peter hums. “Yeah? Got a full head?”

Felicia nods and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. “Curly, too.”

“Like yours.”

Felicia’s shrug rocks them both. “I like that he looks like you.”

Peter grabs the rag sitting beside the sink and wipes his hands dry, then turns in the circle of Felicia’s arms. Partly because he has nowhere else to put them, and partly because he wants to, his hands find her hips. Felicia’s not looking at him; her eyes are closed, expression gentle.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to kiss her, maybe. The spark between them is still smoldering—part of Peter thinks it’ll never stop—but he’s still scared of getting burned, too. Then there’s MJ, and that’s…

Peter shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts, and blinks to find Felicia staring at him.

“You could’ve called, you know.” He thinks about the brick-heavy flip phone buried in his dresser, the one he sometimes takes on patrols just in case.

Felicia shrugs again. “Not nearly as fun as this.” She presses herself close to him. She unloops her arms from his waist to drape around his neck instead.

“I wouldn’t turn you away,” Peter adds.

Felicia studies him. Her eyes are piercing; cat comparisons are maybe a little on the nose, but it doesn’t make them any less accurate. “I know, Spider.” She leans in minutely closer. “Thanks.”

Peter bridges the gap between them. He immediately melts into the kiss, and so does Felicia, at least a little bit. They relax against the edge of the counter and open their mouths to each other.

The last two kisses were short-lived and bittersweet, close-lipped but fraught with emotion. This...this is different. This is wet and heavy, tongues against tongues and nipping at bottom lips. Peter’s erection from earlier is slowly coming back to him, entirely unable to be hidden in his thin cotton boxers and sweats.

The kiss breaks with a noisy _smack_ and Felicia presses her smirk to his lips. “Missed you too, Peter.”

“Felicia,” he breathes. “I…”

“I know.” She turns her head and presses her cheek to his chest. “Can we just…stay like this? For a bit?”

Peter holds her a little tighter. “Yeah.”

 

They end up on his sofa, entangled with the television for white noise in the background. Felicia tucks her face against Peter’s neck and goes in and out of sleep. Peter’s hyperaware all the while: of his police scanner potentially going off, of MJ or Miles calling him, of how he ought to be job hunting. He doesn’t do anything except hold Felicia tight.

“Mind letting me stay for a few days?” Felicia asks after an hour or two of quiet companionship. “Since your little redhead is out of town.”

“Uh.”

“I’ll stay out of your hair, mostly.” A lock of hair is falling across Felicia’s forehead. It makes her look more normal, less like a world-class thief and more like the mother of his child. Just the thought has his heart pounding in his chest. “Just needed today,” she adds, quieter.

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, so he leans in and presses a kiss to her temple.

“But, you know, the rest of the weekend...I have errands to run, too. A few more loose-ends to tie up, that sort of thing. But having somewhere to sleep for a few days would help.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Peter murmurs the words into her hair. “That’s totally fine. MJ is gonna call me when she’s getting on her flight back into town, so I guess we have until then?”

Felicia’s smile is like a brand against his neck. “Thanks, Spidey.”

 

 

True to her word, when they roll out of bed the next morning, all he gets is a brief post-toothpaste kiss before she’s out the door. She doesn’t tell him where she’s going and he doesn’t think to ask before the door shuts behind her. There’s a weird pang in his chest when the door locks, but he pushes the feeling aside; it’s _not_ his business whether or not she comes back.

He _wants_ her to, though.

His phone ringing interrupts him clambering into the spidey suit.

_“Hey!”_

“MJ!” Peter perches on the edge of his bed with his mask beside him. “How’s it going?”

 _“It’s incredible, Pete. So many big names here, and I keep getting starstruck but then people are getting starstruck by_ me _. It’s crazy!”_

Peter laughs. “That’s great! No danger or threats I need to worry about?”

_“Nothing aside from the usual city-type crime. No big-bads. It’s actually a pretty nice break, honestly.”_

“I’ll bet.” Peter looks toward his window, to the city waiting for him. “I was about to go patrolling.”

MJ exhales quietly. _“You’re doing good work, Peter. You know that.”_

“I know.” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was weird, not hearing from you last night.”

_“Sorry about that! The first part of the convention ran late and by the time I got back to my hotel, I hit the bed and was out like a light.”_

“It’s no biggie. Just weird.” Peter laughs and shakes his head. “I’m being weird.”

 _“A little bit, yeah.”_ The fondness in MJ’s voice is almost overwhelming. _“But I like your weird.”_

Peter’s smile comes on unexpectedly and powerfully. “I like yours.”

MJ laughs on the other end of the line. _“Another panel is starting soon, I gotta go. I’ll text you later?”_

“Sounds good.”

_“Love you, Pete.”_

“Love you too, MJ.” Peter hangs up and stares at MJ’s contact picture on his phone. After a deep breath, he sets his phone aside and pulls on his mask. He barely lets himself think as he makes it to the windowsill and launches out of it, hurtling toward the concrete below.

The _thwip_ of his web as it carries him away from demise and into the sky clears his thoughts immediately. There’s nothing like flying through the city, and as the police scanner crackles to life in his ear, Peter puts all thoughts of MJ and Felicia and Wally aside.

 

It ends up being a busy, nonstop day. Mostly petty things, leftover Fisk guys and prisoners still causing kick-ups here and there, but nothing unmanageable. As he swings back to his apartment, Peter lets himself wonder what it’d be like to have a helper—like Miles, or...or like Felicia.

Speaking of—

“You cooked?” Peter asks without even taking his mask off as he slips into his apartment. There, at his dinky little stove, is Felicia. She’s in flannel shorts and one of his old tees again, with heavenly scents wafting from the pan she’s using.

“Least I could do,” she says over her shoulder. “I got back a while ago and got bored.”

“You could’ve called.”

Felicia looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “Did you have your phone on you?”

Peter finally peels off his mask and digs the flip phone out of the subtle pocket near the waist of his suit. “Just in case.”

Felicia actually looks surprised, however temporary the expression is. “Good on you, Spidey. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I don’t always bring it, I don’t want it to get broken, but, I figured...”

Felicia reaches out and turns the heat on the stovetop down, then turns around and beckons Peter closer with a single finger. Peter stumbles over until she can hook that same finger into the collar of his suit and tug him one more step closer. “I get you, babe. It’s okay.” She leans up and kisses his cheek.

Peter grins dazedly at her, but startles when she roughly pats his cheek. “Uh.”

“Go wash up, you stink.” She winks at him and goes back to cooking.

Peter feels off balance, uneven, but does as told. Dinner is ready and waiting once he’s out of the shower and dressed in pajamas.

“Smells great,” he says, taking the same spot he had this morning by the window. Felicia sits across from him.

“Don’t get too used to it. I’m no housewife.” Felicia doesn’t look at him as she eats, instead looking out at the night time lights of the city.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises. Her eyes flick to him, and he knows he didn’t succeed in keeping the bitterness out of his tone.

“Told you, Spidey. What would happen if I stayed?”

Peter shakes his head. Felicia stares at him a beat longer. “I know,” he adds, when she doesn’t look away.

She extends her leg and runs her toes over his calf. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Peter shovels food into his mouth and ignores the shocks of heat and arousal that run through him from just playing _footsie_ with her. “Me too,” he says, belatedly.

The smile they share is sad.

 

Despite the heavy cloud hanging over them known as _the truth_ , they crawl into bed together and let their legs tangle. The bed really isn’t big enough for two people, so they _have_ to press close together—but Peter knows, even if the bed were a California King, they’d still be within a hair’s breadth of each other.

Felicia peppers kisses over his neck and the touch is so sweet, so gentle, it nearly lulls him into sleep. That is, until she bites right at his pulse point.

“Felicia!” It comes out as a strangled moan.

She laughs against his skin. “Sorry, Spider. Couldn’t resist. You still taste as good as I remember.”

Peter can’t stop his answering whimper. “I can’t,” he says, just like he did the day before. “It’s not.” He stops and gasps as Felicia’s tongue traces the curve of his neck. “Felicia, _please_.”

She kisses her way up to his ear and whispers, “Please what, baby?”

_“Fuck.”_

She giggles in his ear. “Sorry, sorry.” She leans away and rolls onto her back.

Peter shivers. “Felicia…”

“I just can’t help myself with you,” she says without looking at him.

Peter’s mouth is dry and his dick is hard and it’s the worst possible combination.

Felicia, when she looks at him again, has almost a flicker of apology in her sparkling eyes. “Sorry,” she says one more time, then turns and puts her back to him.

Peter stares at her back, at his old Midtown shirt clinging to her. He thinks of what it was like to be with her—and thinks of what it’s like to be with MJ. Two totally different experiences, in more ways than Peter can count.

He rolls too, so his back is against Felicia’s. He counts backwards from one hundred, then does long division in his head, and when neither of those make his erection go down, he considers grabbing his mask and going for a swing. He doesn’t want to make Felicia feel bad—and he knows she puts up a tough front, just as he knows that if he leaves now, she’ll be gone when he gets back—and he also doesn’t really want to cram his dick into the suit, right now.

He thinks about it so long, so stressed, that eventually he falls asleep.

 

When he wakes up, Felicia’s already gone. For a second, he’s sure it’s for good again, but then he spots the letter resting by his toaster.

_Spidey—_

_Out to tie up some more loose ends, be back soon._

It’s signed only with a kiss made of dark lipstick.

He leaves it on the counter after scribbling a note of his own: _going patrolling. call me if you need anything._

He changes into his suit quickly and gets out the window even quicker.

 

Felicia’s got three boxes of pizza in her arms and comes through the front door at the same moment Peter climbs in through the window.

“Here, let me,” Peter says as he tosses his mask aside. He takes two of the boxes from her just in time to watch her roll her eyes. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. You’re not a housewife,” he reminds her, bumping his hip against hers teasingly.

Felicia snorts. “How did I forget what a dork you are?”

“I really don’t know. That’s kind of my thing.”

They set the boxes of pizza on the little dining room table by the window, and Peter takes in Felicia’s appearance. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, with stray ringlets falling around her face, softening her features. She’s in a tank top and deep green pants that hit just above her ankles, a black jacket tied around her waist even though it’s bitingly cold outside.

Stylish, Peter thinks, although he hardly knows what’s in fashion these days.

Felicia tilts her head as she looks him up and down right back. “Do you ever wear the suit I made you?”

Peter coughs awkwardly. “Sometimes. It’s nice.”

“I liked seeing it on you in the museum. Maybe I’ll see it again sometime.”

Peter nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

Felicia turns away abruptly and goes for the paper plates in Peter’s cupboard. “Go shower,” she tells him.

“Got it,” he replies, and tries not to think too hard about how easy it is, living like this with her.

 

They end up on the couch again that night when Peter’s phone goes off—with a call. He’s been texting MJ on and off since the day before. It’s been a blessing that she’s been so busy at her journalism convention, but that thought makes Peter feel guiltier.

“I’ll step out,” Felicia says. She rises from the couch while Peter stews in his thoughts. She tosses his phone to him and then slips into the bathroom. It’s not much and the walls are paper-thin here, but it’s less awkward than her sitting right next to him.

Peter manages to pick up the call just before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, MJ!”

_“Hey, you! Thought I might’ve missed you. Long day of crime-fighting knocking you out early, old man?”_

Peter looks at the clock on the microwave; it’s not even eight-thirty quite yet. “Pretty much. Just a lot of the usual petty criminals, you know.”

_“Mhmm. You have a minute, or did you want to get to bed?”_

Peter stares at the closed bathroom door. “I’ve got a little bit to spare.”

 _“Great!”_ MJ talks for a few minutes about her different panels, some stuff she already told him over text and some new things, more details and more enthusiasm. Peter loses himself in the conversation easily, and in the back of his mind it’s a good reminder of why he and MJ are so good together. They talk for nearly an hour—sometime around the twenty-minute mark, Peter hears the bath start running, and hopes MJ can’t hear it—and when they hang up, Peter’s delight at talking to her is quickly overshadowed by the sight of Felicia, wrapped in nothing but a towel, walking out of his bathroom.

“How’s the little redhead?”

“Good,” Peter chokes out. Felicia’s hair is wet and sticking to her skin, looks longer when it’s wet. The towel covers her entirely, but leaves her wet thighs exposed just a little too much.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring any clothes in with me.” Felicia speaks as she roots around in his dresser. “You okay?”

“Good,” Peter says again. “MJ’s having a lot of fun.”

“That’s good.” The worst part is Felicia sounds _genuine_ , and Peter wonders if there’s an alternate world where she and MJ are friends. “Hopefully she doesn’t forget who she owes it all to.”

“She could’ve just as easily made a name on her own. She doesn’t owe me anything.” Peter watches as Felicia pulls on a pair of his sweats and then another one of his old tees without ever dislodging the towel until she’s entirely covered. “She’s a good detective.”

“I have no doubt.” Instead of making her way back to the couch, Felicia makes a beeline for the bed.

“It’s early,” Peter says even as he turns off the television and follows her.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” Felicia says by way of an answer. “Thought we’d want to make the most of our last night in this bed.”

Peter scoffs as he gets under the sheets. “You’re never gone for good,” he points out. It feels a little like treading on glass: as though he’ll say that, and she’ll disappear entirely just to spite him. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s ever done.

Felicia smiles at him, though. “I know, Spidey.”

Peter’s too shocked to say anything else, so he just lets Felicia cuddle close, tucked all against him like she has the past two nights. When his eyelids are getting heavy, he thinks to ask, “You aren’t going to leave without saying goodbye this time, right?”

Felicia doesn’t answer, and Peter doesn’t check to see if it’s because she doesn’t know, or if she’s asleep.

 

When Peter wakes up, Felicia is still in his arms. She’s staring at him with her head pillowed on his chest.

“You stayed.”

Felicia nods. “I have to go soon, though. Got a plane to catch.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going this time?”

Felicia looks away. “It’s better if you don’t know. You can’t lie to save your life.” She winks at him and starts to sit up.

Peter follows her and they end up nose to nose. “Not even a hint?”

“Already gave you one.”

“South for the winter isn’t a hint.”

Felicia sizes him up, bites her bottom lip in thought.

“And don’t tell me it’s more fun,” Peter says when Felicia starts to open her mouth. “Because it’s not. Not for me.”

Felicia doesn’t close her mouth. She kisses him, hard. They gasp in unison and Peter deepens the kiss while he knots a hand in her hair. She gets a grip on his chin and tilts him how she wants him, then she’s clambering into his lap and they’re starting to tip back onto the bed.

“I have to go,” she hisses as his hips buck. “But I’ll send you pics. I’ll let you know when we land safe.”

Peter sighs into the next kiss, flexes his hands on her hips. “Okay. That—that works.”

Felicia pulls back and for a split second, Peter thinks he might see wetness in her silver-blue eyes. “I really do have to get going.”

“I know.” Peter sits up and keeps an arm hooked around the small of Felicia’s back to keep her from toppling off his lap. “Just, keep me posted. And maybe call before you drop by, next time.”

Felicia grins.

 

 

Peter’s waiting to meet MJ at the airport when he gets the text: a grainy photo of Felicia in a wide-brim hat and Wally in an oversized pair of sunglasses, with the message _“baby says hello from peru!!”_

**Author's Note:**

> ETA 3/28/19: Hey y’all! I’m so grateful for everyone who’s enjoyed this fic! My muse is a wily thing and I go where the inspiration takes me—which is currently BFU and TUA. I’d really appreciate it if you did not ask when I’m going to update, because I don’t know. I do this for fun and for free, so messages demanding I update or asking ‘so are you gonna update or what???’ Are MASSIVELY disrespectful, and make me not want to update at all. It’s rude, plain and simple. If you have the urge to leave some sort of demanding comment, don’t. If you leave a comment to the affect of begging/demanding I update or rudely inferring smth about an update, I’m going to delete the comment, and it’ll be just that more unlikely that I’ll update at all. 
> 
> Thanks for understanding! Be kind to fanfic authors! I don’t owe you anything!


End file.
